


Lyracal Love

by epcot97, MalcolmReynolds



Series: Miraculous Ladybug One Shots [5]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Past Relationship(s), adrienette - Freeform, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epcot97/pseuds/epcot97, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalcolmReynolds/pseuds/MalcolmReynolds
Summary: Shooting a television ad in Los Angeles for his father’s company, Adrien Agreste discovers his former classmate is in town wrapping up the final days of her summer internship.  Though it’s  been years since they’d last seen each other, he takes a chance that, despite everything, she might want to spend an afternoon walking the beach with an old friend.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Series: Miraculous Ladybug One Shots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046785
Comments: 38
Kudos: 127





	Lyracal Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LyraMaeArcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraMaeArcher/gifts).



> _Ep: I heard it’s a special day for our friend, LyraMaeArcher! I got out my Chat Noir costume in her honor, though I have to admit, it’s a little tighter than I remember. Guess that pandemic workout plan turned out better than I thought! Anyway… I think we should do something to mark the occasion. What would be an appropriate gift for a writer?_  
>    
> MR: Ep, I don’t think lifting a wine glass over and over counts as a workout plan. And I know the PERFECT gift for a writer… a reason to procrastinate writing! 
> 
> _Ep: Then just in case we don’t get this finished - a very happy LyraMaeArcher appreciation day from your two biggest fans._

The text message came in from a number that she’d not seen grace her phone in years; at least, not since they’d gone their separate ways after Lycee. 

**_AA:_ ** _Heard through the grapevine you were in LA. Would love to catch up!_

Marinette had stared at that message for days, at first disbelieving that Adrien even _had_ her number any longer; sure, they had occasionally bumped into each other from time to time in Paris, but it had never been more than a few moments of the _hey-great-to-see-you-got-to-run_ kind of encounter, with no commitment to following up later. Not that it was strictly the fault of either of them; the demands of her University curriculum had been amazingly severe, including an unthinkable number of unpaid hours as an intern for more companies than she cared to remember -- the latest with a small startup based out of Santa Monica that had impressive ties to the movie industry. 

For his part, the supermodel had never been in higher demand, whether as the face of his father’s blockbuster fashion house or the amazing panoply of international brands he regularly seemed to be attached to; Marinette had only been vaguely aware upon departing Paris for her final summer internship that Adrien had branched out from still photos and begun filming ads suitable for various media platforms. Perhaps _vaguely_ wasn’t quite the right term, for it seemed to her that Adrien’s finely sculpted body seemed to guard just about every YouTube video she cared to watch, making her wonder what assumptions her web browser was making about her. Intellectually, she’d known such videography had to take place _somewhere_ ; in her wildest dreams, though, she’d never have guessed the two of them would happen to be in Southern California at the same time.

Younger Marinette would have taken it as a sign that the universe was finally tilting in her direction; older Marinette was more circumspect. Did she have time for coffee with an old friend who’d dropped off the face of the planet for more than three years? Did she even _want_ to make time for someone she thought she’d known, only to wonder if she’d slighted him in some unknown way? The few occasions after Lycee they’d managed to carve out had always seemed to end abruptly; Adrien, gentlemanly as ever, had easily accepted her ostensible excuse that she’d double booked herself yet again without complaint, with the promise of rescheduling. Except, over time, even his patience appeared to have worn thin enough that the calls had stopped coming. In the end, she’d simply accepted that with everything on her plate at the moment -- including a particular obligation that she could _never_ share with Adrien, or anyone else for that matter -- social entanglements would just have to wait.

And yet.

Staring at the text message again that morning, something inside of her -- something she’d not felt for a long, _long_ , time stirred. Aside from a certain feline that she saw all _too_ regularly, few acquaintances from her years at Dupont or Lycee had remained in touch. As with Adrien, many had tried for a time to be good friends, but over the years, she’d heard less and less frequently from them as they each moved on with their lives. She, too, had moved on, if not in her own, unique way; only now, as she allowed the words from the text message displayed on her screen to burn their way into her permanent memory, did she start to wonder what it was, exactly, she had moved on _from_. 

Tapping her fingers against the side of her phone, she thought about all the people she had met during her time in University and through her various internships; she’d made plenty of contacts in the industry she planned on dominating at some point, but, oddly, Marinette hadn’t had the time to craft the sort of deep, personal connection she’d had with many of her friends back in the day. She could lie to herself and say it was due to her crazy life circumstances, a life where she never knew if she’d be able to get through the day without having to put everything on hold long enough to wield a magical yo-yo for a bit in order to ensure the world remained rational and orderly. And at peace.

Marinette, despite all of her successes, had never felt so alone.

Suddenly she saw the text message as a lifeline, one that she desperately wanted to grab. Her fingers flew across the keyboard of her phone.

**_Mari:_ ** _Hey stranger! Sorry, just seeing this. Would love to see you. When?_

Tossing the phone down on her bed like it was a hot potato, she wondered why her pulse was suddenly beating in her ears; closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and had begun to convince herself she’d waited too long when her phone _pinged_. Snapping her eyes open, she looked down at the display.

**_AA:_ ** _Hey! Was worried I’d missed you. I’m done at four today. Meet me at the pier?_

**_Mari:_ ** _You’re in Santa Monica?!_

**_AA:_ ** _Closest beach for the video we’re doing. :-)_

**_Mari:_ ** _Sure - I can do that. How will I find you?_

**_AA:_ ** _I didn’t think it had been that long since we’d seen each other :-O_

Marinette felt herself smiling, for she’d quite forgotten Adrien’s sense of humor.

**_Mari:_** _Right. Look for the French guy who seems lost and out of place?_

**_AA:_ ** _Ouch. There goes my ego._

**_Mari:_ ** _See you at four!_

The day went by in a bit of a blur, and before she knew it, Marinette found herself stepping off of the metro at a bus stop within easy walking distance of the famous strip of wide sandy beach. Public transportation in Los Angeles left something to be desired, by Parisian standards, so she’d worked through the lunch break at her internship so she could depart the small building with plenty of time to spare -- even if it was just a few short miles away from the shore. As she found her way down the paved public access to the beach, she delighted in the late summer warmth, knowing now after several months of living in the area exactly _why_ so many people called this part of the world home. Though she’d never willingly give up Paris as her home base, Marinette figured Los Angeles could be a reasonable backup should her situation ever change.

Shielding her eyes against the sun, she scanned the beach and the pier behind it, looking for the tall, striking blond she had once called a classmate. For some reason, she’d assumed the trappings of a photoshoot or a filming set would clue her in as to Adrien’s whereabouts, but there was no trace of a crew or equipment; instead, the beach was full of patrons enjoying the weather, frolicking in the surf or playing at one of the many volleyball nets strung up at regular intervals. Much to her surprise, blond heads were everywhere, reminding her yet again of the beach-infused culture of the city — and, of course, making her task all the harder. 

Starting across the paved bike path, she caught a glimpse of a familiar form a few meters away and paused; sure enough, the striking form of Adrien Agreste, trademark mop-top and all, was striding across the sand toward her, sneakers in one hand and half-smile on his face. Blinking hard against the glare from the ocean, she could have sworn he was wearing the exact outfit from his days at Dupont: a black t-shirt beneath an unbuttoned dress shirt, paired with skinny jeans tight enough she could see the outline of his phone in the front pocket. Marinette idly wondered if bending down was a problem, but based on how easily the supermodel was moving, she suspected the denim color was hiding the fact that a more stretchy fabric had been woven into the garment. 

Marinette started to wave only to watch as Adrien’s face abruptly shifted; quite suddenly he was tearing across the remaining distance, his sneakers tossed to the side. Before she could comprehend what she was seeing, strong arms had wrapped themselves around her and she felt the two of them sailing through the air; a moment later, she was on her back in the warm sand, staring up at a pair of green eyes looking at her in concern. 

“Uh, hi,” she said, feeling a slight warming to her cheeks as she became incredibly aware that she could smell his cologne, mixed with the salty tang of the ocean air.

“Are you okay?” he asked, those wide green eyes full of concern as he pushed upward a little. “That was a near miss.”

It took her a moment to realize he’d spoken in their native tongue, the light, airy tones reminding her of home. She returned the favor as Adrien sat back on his haunches and helped her sit up herself. “Yeah, fine,” she nodded, brushing some of the sand off of her pants. “Not to sound ungrateful, but near-miss of _what_?”

Adrien smiled slightly, something that looked both familiar and yet, not. “You were standing in the middle of the bike path,” he said gently. “And nearly became a pedestrian pancake.”

“Oh!” Marinette said, startled. Looking beyond the blond mop of hair, she could see cyclists, rollerbladers, and other fitness-minded beachgoers whistling by at speeds that made her suddenly recoil. It wasn’t like her to become distracted, but clearly, seeing Adrien had blinded her to her surroundings. “Thanks,” she smiled sheepishly as the supermodel helped her to her feet. “I guess you can still make me dazed and confused.”

Adrien laughed, a mellifluous sound she realized she’d missed hearing. “Did I _ever_ really do that to you?” he asked, obliquely referring to those years when Marinette had first known him and had found it nearly impossible to string a complete sentence of words together in his presence.

“You did,” she reminded him, recalling the quiet conversation they’d had a few years later when she’d finally revealed to him how hard she’d crushed on him; both had been seeing other people by that point, of course, which made it easier for them to have a nice laugh about it. But she’d seen something in his eyes, a sadness perhaps, that he’d not known how she’d felt -- and maybe a bit of wistfulness at what could have been.

Then again, it was just as likely her teenage heart had been hoping that was what she was seeing.

“Well, I’m amazingly sorry to get you all twitterpated,” he laughed as he took her by the hand and led her carefully across the bike path and onto the beach proper. “I’m really glad you agreed to meet up. I’ve been in Los Angeles too long without seeing a friendly face.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she laughed. The warmth of his hand against hers was unusually welcoming, and she found herself slipping easily back into the comfortable familiarity of friendship. Adrien seemed to realize he was still holding her and let her go with a gentle squeeze, which made her slightly sad.

“LA is a meat grinder,” he continued in confidential tones, still in French. “In some ways, this most recent set of gigs here in California have been similar to my teenage years - I’m in front of some version of a camera from dawn until midnight. This is the first afternoon I’ve had free in weeks.”

They paused a few meters from the walkway, and Adrien angled a shoulder toward her. “Here, get those shoes off before you ruin them.”

Marinette smiled and leaned against him, balancing as she slipped her flats off, then dug her bare toes into the sun-warmed sand. Her eyes went wide in delight. “This feels amazing,” she said, “and I had no idea how badly I needed it.”

“Long day?” Adrien asked.

“Long _summer_ ,” she sighed, referring to more than just her internship. “I feel like I’ve been on the run since late May.” They started down toward the water, weaving their way between beach towels and frisbees sailing through the air. “Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you actually wearing the same clothes as back in Dupont?”

Adrien laughed again and paused at the edge of where the loose sand transitioned to the more packed down material still soggy with recent surf activity. “Kind of. I created a retro line this spring and couldn’t help but bring back my look from then.” He looked a little sheepish. “To be honest, I’d not seen you for so long, I thought it would help me be somewhat recognizable.”

Marinette looked at him. “How could I _not_ recognize you?” she said. “You are like, everywhere, these days.”

“And nowhere,” he added ruefully. He seemed on the cusp of adding more but shifted gears instead, tilting his head away from the pier and the gaudy Ferris wheel spinning away at the end. Much like the smile she’d seen earlier, it was familiar and yet not. “If it’s all the same to you, do you mind if we avoid the crowd and walk that way?”

“Not at all,” she smiled. “Tired of giving autographs?” She joshed as they started to walk, the damp sand squishing slightly beneath each footfall. 

“Not really,” he replied earnestly as he looked over his shoulder. “There’s a rather vibrant paparazzi industry here, though, and I’d rather not inflict that on you if we can avoid it.”

Marinette nodded, suddenly realizing she’d been a beneficiary of that very industry, tracking down every last picture of Adrien’s trip to California in the days since she’d received his text, while also commiserating; her old friend, Alya, had become rather wealthy as the premier blogger trafficking in photos and stories of a certain Parisian superheroine and her feline partner. “I… can appreciate that,” she smiled. “I’d hate to pop up as your new mystery woman.”

Her friend rolled his eyes. “I totally don’t want you to have to go through that,” he said. “This poor assistant director handed me coffee a few days ago, and now the world knows her name, favorite lip balm, and whether she drinks red or white wine each evening.”

Marinette’s eyes went wide. “That’s uncool.”

“Completely.” Adrien looked pained. “I managed to get her a quieter posting away from the limelight for a few weeks. Once the hubbub dies down, she’ll be able to return to the set.”

The conversation flowed organically from there, in an easy, casual way that spoke to their shared time together. It didn’t take long for them to fall into their old habits -- his corny jokes, her poignant observations -- erasing, at least for the moment, the gap that had developed between them. As the sun slowly moved lower on the horizon, the day’s heat began to dissipate; somewhere along the line, Adrien had placed his dress shirt over her bare shoulders, though she couldn’t quite remember when. Her eyes, though, had strayed to the rather well-defined biceps removing his outer shirt had revealed, biceps all the more impressive in person.

Adrien caught the look and narrowed his eyes in good humor. “I get that a lot,” he laughed.

“Sorry,” she replied sheepishly. “You must work out a ton.”

He got an odd look but nodded. “I do.”

“Personal trainer?”

He smiled at that. “I’d never thought of it that way, but yes. He’s a maniac, though.”

“But effective.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Are you hungry? I’ve found the most remarkable place just over there--” he nodded to a set of low-rise buildings paralleling the bike path, “--that serves something known here as ‘brick fired pizza.’”

Marinette smiled; Adrien had swapped to English to describe the dish, and, as per usual, had affected no trace of his accent in the process. “That’s not exactly a uniquely American dish,” she pointed out as she allowed him to lead her away from the surf and toward the restaurant.

“True,” he agreed. “But I’ve never had one quite like what this place makes. Are you game?” he asked, his eyes dancing with excitement.

The look gave her pause, for it also seemed to communicate something else. It reminded her of hours spent side-by-side with him, mastering some video game now lost to her own personal history. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I am.”

“Then I hope you are _really_ hungry,” he replied happily. 

It was clear from the way the host greeted them that Adrien was more than a casual visitor to the small, family-run restaurant. The grandmotherly woman smiled and quickly took the two of them to a small round table covered by a colorful umbrella; Adrien pulled out the chair facing the ocean for her, and Marinette settled in, watching as Adrien slid into a seat beside her that was barely a half-meter from the ornate railing rimming the patio.

“This reminds me of your patio on the Bakery roof,” Adrien smiled, nodding toward the wrought iron. “Every time I’m here, I close my eyes and think of that view you have of the cathedral.”

“Really?” she asked, then frowned, for it occurred to her she couldn’t recall a time when he’d actually been on her roof.

Adrien seemed to see her confusion and flushed, which while as endearing to her as it had been all those years earlier, seemed unfounded. Before she had a chance to press him, he hurriedly continued. “How are your parents, anyway? I have half a mind to special order some of their bread just to get a taste of home.”

“Well,” Marinette replied, still watching Adrien carefully. “I talk to Maman regularly, though with the time change, it’s sometimes a challenge to catch her.”

He nodded. “That’s more than I get from Father,” he sighed. “Would you believe he sent me the same pen for my birthday as last year?”

Marinette chuckled. “I would.”

The waitress appeared and took their drink orders, and Marinette realized with a start that Adrien had not been old enough to order the complicated martini he’d so casually requested the last time they’d tried to have a meal together. It was hard for Marinette to reconcile just how many years it had been since she’d seen Adrien, for in the short while they’d been together that evening had made it feel as though they’d never been apart. 

The drinks came, and then the pepperoni and red onion pizza Adrien had recommended; the conversation, easy, as befitted two friends who’d seen a lot together. Between the wine, the shirt about her shoulders, and the patio heaters, Marinette found herself in a pleasantly comfortable, amazingly relaxed frame of mind. It had been some time since she’d made it to that level of Zen, and as she thought about it, the last one had been fueled by a pint of her favorite ice cream. This, on the whole, had been a far better experience.

Time passed of its own accord, and far too quickly the waitress had removed their dishes and replaced them with a round of coffee, plus the small portfolio for the bill. Adrien managed to snatch it from her grasp. “This is on me,” he smiled as he slid what appeared to be the mythical Black Card everyone in her circle had long suspected he had inside the portfolio before handing it to the waitress. “I dragged you out for this.”

“I came willingly,” she smiled. “But I don’t mind splitting--”

“I won’t hear of it,” he smiled again. “Did you save room for dessert?”

“ _Dessert_?” she replied incredulously. “After what we just ate?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “If you don’t mind a bit more of a walk, I might have a surprise only you could truly appreciate.” Adrien’s green eyes scanned her for a moment. “It’s on the way back to the metro stop.”

Marinette eyed Adrien and his svelte form as they stood; while she definitely felt as though she had overindulged by a slice or three, her cranked-up metabolism generally took care of any bonus calories left over at the end of the day -- though, strictly speaking, there tended to be very few, given the rather active lifestyle that had been forced upon her. Adrien’s workout regime must have been fanatical enough to do the same, for he’d had an even healthier portion of their extremely large pizza.

“All right,” she smiled as he carefully navigated her through the now-full tables on the patio.

Two steps onto the beach, Adrien paused and turned slightly to lend her his arm. Smiling at the gesture, Marinette looped hers inside of his, aware of the intimacy of the act and, to her surprise, not troubled by it in the least. Slowly, they began to stroll in the general direction of the pier and the mysterious dessert Adrien had promised, the sand beneath her once-more bare feet still somewhat warm despite the arrival of the evening. Glancing eastward, she could just see the moon beginning to appear over the mountains that hugged the city with a warm embrace and was startled that it had gone full.

Not wanting to spoil the moment, Marinette nonetheless found herself turning and quietly asking: “Why me? And why tonight, after all of these years?”

Adrien nodded slightly. “Fair questions, both,” he smiled slightly. “The first is actually tied to the second, I suppose,” he continued. “I’ve wanted to call you for a while, but had convinced myself you were… unavailable.”

“Me?” she asked, her eyes going wide as she slowed her step. “What made you think that?”

Adrien looked a bit sheepish. “I… happen to know a few people in the program you’re attending at University,” he said softly. “I’ve been following your progress for some time, and know how demanding it has been. It didn’t seem right for me to intrude on you while you pursue your dream.”

Marinette came to a complete stop. “ _That’s_ why you stopped calling?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “I know we tried to hang out a few times when you started, but you always seemed to need to be somewhere,” he said, before smiling slightly. “Often, I did too. I figured I’d bide my time until you were less busy.”

They started walking again, Marinette considering what Adrien had said. He wasn’t wrong -- the fashion program was brutal, made all the worse by her nightly obligations with her feline partner. She smiled slightly at the thought of him, for he, too, seemed to have zeroed in on her overflowing plate of responsibilities and had, in his own way, tried to do what he could. 

She looked at Adrien. “That answers the second part, then,” she said intuitively.

“Yes,” he nodded. “This is your last internship going into your final year. And from what I hear, you have nothing to worry about with respect to graduation and a place in one of the best firms in the world.” He smiled slightly. “So I figured a little distraction might be welcome, finally.” He slowed to a stop and turned sideways to look at her, before adding quietly: “For both of us.”

Blushing slightly, Marinette turned her head to look out at the ocean. Adrien’s smile faded a little as he dug his toes into the sand. “Actually, I have a favor to ask of you.” He kicked at the sand in front of him creating a tiny tornado, swept away on the ocean breeze. When Marinette looked back up at him, he continued, “Saturday is the final day that I’m shooting in California, and I have to head home Saturday night. There was an, uh, mix-up, and the model I’m supposed to be working with has to fly to Rome Saturday morning for a Sunday shoot.” His gaze flicked up to meet Marinette’s and she smiled encouragingly at him. 

“So, I know you have to model at some time during your internships, and I was wondering if you would help me out. My father’s in town and would sign any paperwork you needed for school. He’s agreed to let you model, if you’re willing, of course.” Adrien smiled at her hopefully, and Marinette knew that she’d agree to pretty much anything he asked in that moment. When she nodded, Adrien whooped and hugged her, letting go immediately when she squeaked and stiffened. 

“Sorry, I got carried away…”

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting…”

They laughed as they talked over each other, eventually retrying the hug as they arrived at the Metro entrance. Marinette had made it down two stairs before Adrien called after her, “Wait! We forgot dessert!” 

Laughing, Marinette patted her still full belly. “Saturday? After the shoot? I’ll need a sugary pick-me-up then after being in the spotlight with you!”

Adrien nodded and smiled. “It’s a date!”

Her heart fluttered, but Marinette squelched down on the feeling, knowing it had merely been a turn of phrase, rather than an actual date that Adrien was planning, although her thirteen-year-old self melted a little at the thought. S _top it_ . She thought to herself. _He’s always valued friendship more than anything. It’s been really nice reconnecting_. She waved one last time to Adrien who was still standing at the Metro entrance and practically bounced down the rest of the steps. 

Saturday promised to be a gorgeous day, hot but not humid, and when she arrived at the beach near where she’d met Adrien two days prior, the soft sea breeze lifted her hair and made her smile. She looked around her, the beach and surrounding boardwalk were bustling, even before seven on a Saturday morning, but she smiled as she glanced down at a roped-off area of the beach where they were raising a white floral arbor, obviously to be the setting of a wedding. 

Marinette smiled to herself; they certainly had the perfect day for it. Marinette was careful not to stand in the bike path this time, instead, slipping off her sandals, and letting them dangle from one hand as she scanned the beach for Adrien or any sign of a photoshoot. She jumped when a voice behind her called her name. 

Whirling, she turned to face Adrien, who had ditched his retro ensemble for an unbuttoned cotton overshirt and board shorts. He, too, had his sandals dangling from one hand as he padded barefoot across the sand towards her. It took quite a bit of effort for Marinette to keep her eyes on his face, but she managed it, smiling at her old school friend. 

“Thank you so much for helping me out! Come on, let me introduce you around!” Adrien held his hand out casually to Marinette, and she took it, her heart picking up speed for a few moments, before settling back down, its rhythm slightly faster than it had been before. 

Her eyes grew round as she realized he was leading her over towards where they were setting up for the wedding, although now that she looked more closely at it, there were no chairs or aisle, just the altar area. Pausing, Marinette looked up at Adrien who had turned to face her when he felt the pull on their joined hands. “Exactly what kind of photoshoot is this?” she asked, frowning slightly.

Adrien looked a little sheepish, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his head in an achingly familiar gesture. “It’s a wedding shoot. That’s, uh, not going to be a problem for you, is it?”  
  
He looked so nervous that she was going to run away, that Marinette shook her head on instinct. “Nope! No problem! Definitely not. Why would pretending to marry an old friend I haven’t seen in years be a problem?” Snapping her mouth shut to stop the flow of babble, Marinette smiled a little too wide, a mildly hysterical giggle escaping the lips she had clamped together. 

Almost sagging in relief, or at least as close to sagging as someone with perfect posture could come, Adrien smiled down at her. “I’m glad! Let me show you your dresses!”

“Dresses?” Marinette squeaked the word, and Adrien was reminded of the brief time she’d held a Miraculous, saving both himself and Ladybug, not that she knew he had been the one under the mask of the black cat. 

“Only two.” He grinned at her. “It’s going to be a fairly low-key shoot. One dress is more casual and the other more formal.” Leading her over to the tent that was set up, Adrien ducked to one side of the curtain while Marinette headed to the other. The woman who dressed Marinette was quiet and efficient, offering single syllable instructions whenever possible, usually mumbled around a mouth full of pins. Having done her job more times than she could count, Marinette held herself perfectly still, a much more difficult job than she’d previously supposed, as the seamstress stitched the tea-length lace dress to fit her proportions. 

When the elder lady was done, the white lace lay against her skin, and the woman had her change into the other one. She let out a heartfelt sigh as the material pooled at Marinette’s feet, the dress obviously intended for someone several inches taller. The dress was a mermaid style, and the top half fit Marinette like a glove, showcasing her muscular body to full effect, but the bottom… well, there was just too much of it. 

The woman sighed, stepping back and shaking her head, but Marinette asked her for a full-length mirror. When the woman frowned, Marinette stepped down from the dais she’d been standing on, and walked over to it, hitching up the excess material at her feet. 

Following her, the seamstress frowned deeply but offered a nervous smile when Marinette’s face lit up. “Simple fix. Cut a small wedge out of the front, to, say, mid-calf. That way it will look like it’s part of the train, and meant to drag the floor on all sides.” 

Eyes lighting up, the woman nodded her head in approval and quickly got to work. She was chattier this time, although somewhat more hurried, and she and Marinette spoke about her internship. Marinette learned that Claudia was the designer of both gowns, and absolutely loved the little changes Marinette had suggested. They worked quickly, and both women beamed when she was done. “Beautiful!” Claudia whispered. “You look amazing. Now take it off, carefully, and put the first one back on. Then head to hair and makeup.”

Marinette nodded, putting the lace dress back on. She headed to hair and makeup, where they painted her nails the palest shade of pink and swept her hair into an updo, studded with tiny pink flowers and a short veil. She wore a soft pink bracelet and a strand of pink pearls, while someone slipped a pink diamond onto her ring finger. White sandals completed the look when she was whisked out to where Adrien waited for her. 

Adrien grinned at her, his expression going soft as she smiled nervously, and he held a hand out to her. She reached out, taking his hand, and he curled his much larger one around her fingers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. Keeping his hand tucked safely in hers, he led her out to the arbor. They joked around, posing as the cameraman instructed, until, for the final shot, Adrien swept her off her feet and spun her around. Squealing, Marinette clung to him, eyes closed, grin huge. It was his favorite shot.

At the urging of the photographer, they hurried back to the tent to change into their second outfits. All of Marinette’s pink was exchanged for ocean blue and her hair was bundled into an elegant chignon. The dress swirled and pooled around her feet like the waves of the ocean and Claudia beamed at her. The heeled sandals made walking on the sand more difficult, but when Adrien’s jaw dropped, it was worth it. He’d changed from his sand-colored suit into a light grey one, this time wearing a tie, with the same ocean blue accents that Marinette wore. 

This shoot was more subdued, to match the more formal outfits. At one point, Marinette was bent back over Adrien’s arm, showing off the drape of the fabric, and while she knew she must be heavy, Adrien held her like it was nothing. When he was finally allowed to pull her upright, she sagged against him slightly, and he leaned down for the next picture. They were supposed to stop a hair’s breadth from each other, posing as if they were about to kiss, but Adrien must have overshot because suddenly his lips were on hers, and she was wrapping her arms around his neck with no thought to the lines of the dress. 

The photographer captured it all on film: the dip, the way Adrien cradled Marinette close while she regained her balance, and the kiss. Oh, goodness, _that kiss_. Adrien had a new favorite picture.

They were given no time to talk, instead rushed back into the tent to change back into their regular clothes, but Adrien replayed that moment over and over again in his head, the way her eyes had flown open when their lips had met, then fluttered closed as she’d pulled him closer. Adrien paced back and forth, waiting for Marinette to finish changing. When she emerged, she’d changed back into her street clothes, but had left her hair and makeup in place. He held his hand out to her, as he had before, but she just stepped past it and leaned up to kiss him once again. 

Adrien responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. It was several minutes later when they emerged from the tent, hand in hand. Adrien couldn’t help the smile that played at the edges of his lips, even as he turned to Marinette. “So, where do we go from here?”

“Well, you did promise me dessert.” Marinette grinned up at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

He burst out laughing. “I meant more, us. Where do _we_ go from here?”

“Keep buying me dessert and I’ll follow you anywhere.” Marinette’s smile softened, and she offered him a little half-shrug. “I’m not entirely sure, but I’d love to find out.”

Smiling back at her, Adrien squeezed their joined hands. “Me too, Marinette. Me too.”


End file.
